A Photo of John
by somevelvetmorning
Summary: While snooping in Sherlock's room, John finds a horribly embarrassing picture of himself in Sherlock's coat pocket with the words "never forget" on the back. What does it mean? Well John plans on finding out, that's for sure. - Eventual Johnlock -
1. Chapter 1

**A Photo of John**

John walked into Sherlock's room on a humid Saturday morning, he had asked John to fetch his notebook from his room. John was undoubtedly surprised that he would leave it there; he was never there, only to sleep when absolutely necessary. He entered and decided to look around for a little bit, he wouldn't get another chance. He saw it before when he threw him in bed but that was about it. Everything was organized thoughtfully and there were a few stray papers lying across the rug. A few old dusty chemistry textbooks he probably already memorized. Nothing particularly juicy, so he grabbed the notebook on his way out the door. But then he caught something out of the corner of his eye in Sherlock's coat laid out on the bed. A small slip of something white but slightly browned from either age or a coffee stain hanging out of his pocket.

John softly smiled and carefully pulled up the slip of paper. It was a tea stain; the paper was wrinkled and crumpled as if it had seen many hard days. "I'm sure it had if it was traveling with Sherlock" he quietly concluded. He squinted at the tiny, carelessly scrawled writing. It read "John, 2013 – Never Forget", John was puzzled, what did it mean? He flipped it over and was greeted with a photograph that made his cheeks flush scarlet. It wasn't anything he expected to see, especially in Sherlock's coat of all people! It was an image of John, sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. His hair was disheveled, his clothes were rumbled and he had a small food stain on the corner of his mouth. Something he _wanted _to forget immediately! Why did he keep the picture for so long? Why did he tell himself to "never forget" it? Why did he even have it in the first place?

He decided to risk being caught for snooping to find out what it meant. He marched out the door, leaving it swinging slightly with the photo grasped in one hand and his notebook in the other. Sherlock was at his desk , obviously in his mind palace with his hands under his chin and his lack of acknowledgement. John walked over next to him and forcefully tossed the notebook in front of him and stood, foot tapping. Sherlock eventually turned and looked quizzically up at John, holding out the wrinkled picture. " Sherlock, what the hell is this?"

"That is a picture of you"

" Tell me the bloody truth Sherlock!"

" I don't know what you're talking about"

John tried to stay calm. " Why does it say never forget on the back?"

Sherlock sighed, exasperated. " Blackmail John."

"WHAT?!"

" Are you really that dim? I needed the picture to use if you didn't comply to an important decision or event I needed you for. It's certainly embarrassing enough. I mean, look at your hair!"

John grew silent and rosy in the cheeks. "Here, take it back. I was hoping-"

" hoping what John?"

John threw the photograph onto the table. " I was hoping that maybe... you know what? No. It doesn't matter anyways. You wouldn't understand."

John turned and briskly walked away when that low baritone voice struck through the silence.

"If you do not wish to feel further disappointment then I suggest you stop intruding on my personal belongings John."

When John turned around Sherlock swore he saw a glimmer of tears in his eyes before John turned and stalked into his room and slammed the door.

John collapsed onto his bed and held his head in his hands. What was he expecting anyways? Sentiment? Attachment? No, it was just confirmation that he was just like everyone else. He felt foolish for going through his things and making a spectacle of himself. John buried his face in his pillow and tried to forget it ever happened.

Sherlock picked up the picture, the one thing John failed to notice was his smile. John had a beautiful, wispy smile, full of contentment when he took it, unlike any other. The reason he kept it and vowed to never forget was because he wanted to remember that he had something to live for. It kept him off of drugs. It stopped his thoughts of suicide. The photo saved his life countless times and John had no idea. Sherlock smiled. He hadn't smiled in weeks.

**Hey readers! Just a quick shout out! This is officially completed but I am completely willing to continue this oneshot. So please, PM me or let me know in a review and I'll be happy to. Even if not, please review me, I love feedback. **

**Yours Truly,**

_~ somevelvetmorning_


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you guys for the awesome reviews, you are all much appreciated, every last one of you. :) So, I will turn this into a multi- chapter fic by request. Well, here I go! *taking the plunge* **

**Chapter 2**

Sherlock quietly turned the beloved photo over and over in his hands, then softly placed in onto the desk. He stood up, and picked up an old brown leather book with torn binding at the sides. The book was titled in faded print: " The Short Yet Significant Life of A Bumblebee". Sherlock flipped to the first page and started to read, softly pinching the fine, yellowed paper between his fingers. A few hours later, he had finished the book, and thoughtfully placed the book back onto the shelf. He sat and pondered the contents for a while until he was struck with something odd. John had not left his room since Sherlock had started reading, had his cover been too harsh? Maybe he was sleeping. " I doubt it" he murmured. He then he silently rose and crept towards John's room, cautiously avoiding the parts of the floors that made creaks. He was now directly in front of his door and determined whether to knock or silently open the door. He opened the door, he didn't want John to push him out anymore. But he could imagine why he would. He was merely a heartless bastard to him, he never revealed that he did care and worry about John. He couldn't bear to feel rejection from him, so he wore his mask like he had been born with it. John was laying across his bed, half in a fetal position, wrapping his arms around his chest like he was just barely holding himself together. His face was red and raw covered in tear stains and ( thank god ) he was asleep. The crying must have worn him out, he felt guilty for making John cry so much. He sat down on his bed and softly stroked his soft light hair, wishing he could never wake up. It was so easy to be around John when he was asleep because neither of them were forced to put up walls, they could just be them , all the complexities dulled down. Sherlock was calmed by John's slow, steady breathing and felt the urge to lay his head on his shoulder. Suddenly John's eyes fluttered speedily until he jolted out of his stance and sat up.

" S-Sherlock?"

Sherlock blushed furiously. He jumped up from John's side on his bed and felt foolish for thinking he could get away with it.

" John. I wanted to... apologize"

" Apologize?"

" For my inexcusable behavior this morning, I shouldn't have called you an idiot under any circumstances."

John's eyes grew wide, Sherlock had never apologized for making him feel inferior. He straitened up.

" Thank you Sherlock. I was a little more upset about the blackmailing bit, mate." He humorously added

" Well you don't have to worry about that, that wasn't re-" Sherlock grew pale. Future note: think before speaking, especially around John.

John grew confused "What do you mean it wasn't real?"

" Nothing. Just forget it." Sherlock stalked to the window and looked out, mostly to hide his flushed face.

John stood up. He wasn't going to let it go, Sherlock foretold by his stance.

" Sherlock, were you lying to me?

" How about we go out to eat tonight? There's barely a scrap of food in the fridge."

" Sherlock. Stop changing the subject."

Sherlock spun around quickly, not realizing John was so close to him. Suddenly their faces were a only a few inches away and he swore he saw John blush. But why?

" If you insist, we could discuss the matter over dinner?" He could feel his warm breath on his face, it smelled like a mixture of jam and tea, unsurprisingly. What was surprising was that Sherlock found it rather... alluring. " Snap out of it" he thought to himself.

" That sounds good, I haven't eaten in a while." John was about to turn away when he turned back and stared into Sherlock's deep bluish green eyes. He had a serious expression on his face. He meant business.

"We will discuss this." No question.

" Of course we will John."

John smiled, and Sherlock grinned back. He loved when John smiled, when he laughed. Only John's smiles were contagious.

They both left his room and grabbed their coats. They quickly pattered down the stairs and stepped outside to hail a cab.

John looked at Sherlock more closely. There was a certain glow about him, like he was... John smiled. Like he had let his wall down just a little lower.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Just a side note, when I** **mention someone's "wall" it usually means in a sense that they are blocking someone out. But I also think of "The Wall" by Pink Floyd when I write this so... interpret as you wish. Enjoy!**

Chapter 3

Their ride to the restaurant was rather tense. There was so much to be said, and the unspoken words hung in the air, like those humid days when you feel like you can cut the sky with a knife. They both stared out opposite windows, deep in thought. John was trying to figure out why he had kept the photo, why he pushed him out. Why he lied to him. Sherlock was deciding what to tell John. He couldn't say the picture had sentimental value, could he? No. It would blow his cover, rip his mask off, tear down his wall. He couldn't do that. His wall kept him safe and saved him from rejection and depression. By the time they arrived Sherlock was still undecided, debating weather to tell John the truth.

They arrived at the small local Thai restaurant, and the owner greeted them with grateful smiles. Sherlock had solved his wife's murder and had brought the criminal to justice which of course bought them a free meal and free alcoholic beverages. They sat down at the small table, that should probably only serve one person. The place was packed with people, laughing, arguing, the small wails of babies, all disturbing to Sherlock. Hell! Sherlock thought it was annoying when stupid people even "thought" aloud! After looking at their menus for a few moments, John finally spoke.

"I think I'm going to have the miso soup. You?"

"The same."

There was silence.

" So Sherlock, care to explain the photo?"

Sherlock grew a bit nervous, he was hoping he had more time.

" Let me use the restroom first." John rolled his eyes.

Sherlock briskly walked off into the swarm of people. He entered the run down bathroom and slammed the door. He turned the cool, flowing water and brought it to his face, and looked in the mirror. He had a slightly bluish coloring under his eyes from lack of sleep, and his face a little thin from lack of nourishment but it looked like it always did. He couldn't see why anyone had ever found it attractive. He personally thought his cheekbones were too sharp, making him look abnormal. Not "cool". John had a soft pleasant face. Gentle and kind, good intentions. A lovely smile. Things he could never have. He decided to stall for as long as he could until he had no choice but to answer his question. Only then would he immediately decide. It was foolish but easiest for him. When he felt refreshed enough, he left the restroom and returned to the table. Surprisingly their soup had arrived already.

John stared up at Sherlock's face, and marveled at it. He always felt like it was chiseled from marble, such perfection, such beauty. He had no idea why he spent any time with John, why he valued him so much. He looked down. To himself he was just a broken doctor, hiding his wounds with jokes and girlfriends that never worked out and crap TV. Sherlock was brilliant and quite an attractive man, John didn't deserve his company. The thought disturbed him, that Sherlock would drop him and leave him when he lost interest, which in John's mind was sure to happen soon.

"John?"

John looked up from his soup, " Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked concerned. " What's wrong? Did I do something?"

John looked away slightly embarrassed. " No it's... nothing."

"John. You can tell me."

" I don't think you would understand."

" I can try -"

" No. Just forget it. It wasn't anything important."

John started taking small sips of his soup. Sherlock broke the silence.

" I think we should get this to go. If we're going to talk about personal matters then I suggest we talk in a private place."

"But-"

"I know John. I will explain when we get back to 221B."

John softly nodded.

They got to - go cups and swiftly left the bustling eatery. They walked towards the street, waiting for a cab. But the street was completely empty except for a few stray cars, buzzing around.

" It's not a long walk. It'll take about 20 minutes."

"Okay" John replied

The Styrofoam cups warmed their hands. The night sky was beautiful, glittering, overflowing with stars and space. They slowly walked, Sherlock's black coat lightly flying behind them.

" Sherlock, please tell me about the photo."

It was something about John's voice that made Sherlock give in. A certain weakness, a sorrow. Giving up. John rarely showed weakness so he thought it was best to get it over with.

"It made me laugh."

" What?"

John didn't expect something so simple.

" You heard me. You must keep it between us John, you mustn't tell a soul. Can I trust you?"

" It made you smile?"

"I'm rarely sentimental, I didn't want you to see me weak."

" Sentiment isn't a weakness Sher-"

" Sentiment is a mere chemical defect. I view it as a weakness and that's why I lied to you. Can I trust you?"

John smiled. Usually someone wouldn't want people to know about their affairs or their time in jail but... Sherlock Holmes wanted to keep his care a secret. The irony.

"Of course you can."

There was a comfortable silence between them until Sherlock's baritone voice...

" Tell me what made you upset earlier."

" I don't want to talk about it."

" John, I quite possibly told you one of the most embarrassing secrets I have ever told another human being, speak."

John sighed. " Well, I was just thinking about that day when you decide that I'm not good enough anymore and let me go and-"

Sherlock jolted to a stop and grabbed his shoulders and faced him towards Sherlock. They had a direct gaze, only about 5 inches apart, it made John nervous, he could feel Sherlock's warm, lovely breath on his face. He was staring into his eyes, afraid of what he would say.

"John. You are mistaken. You are the most important person on my list. My "best man". You are vital to my cases and myself. You look at yourself like you're not good enough and your wrong. John, you are too good for me. Never forget that."

John turned his face away again and looked downwards. Sherlock felt confused. Aren't I doing everything right? No, he didn't believe me, why doesn't he believe me? I need to do something else, something drastic, something that can't be a lie, someth-

He knew, what he had to do. Oh, god it was going to be hard but he would do it. Only for John.

One second John was staring into his gemstone eyes, the next he felt familiar arms wrapping around him, holding him tightly against a familiar man. John gasped in surprise, what had come over Sherlock?

When Sherlock held John close he didn't feel like he made a mistake, or that he would regret it later. John was warm and soft and Sherlock didn't mind holding him like this, it was actually rather... comfortable... John had been rigid at first but he quickly sank into the embrace, just as he has expected.

Sherlock's coat was warm and soft, his hair smelled like... blackberries? Blackberries and old books. John hugged him tighter. Then he felt hot breath oh his ear, causing him to shiver. "Why did I shiver?" He thought. He was completely warm. "John" He whispered. " I'm sorry I ever made you felt unwanted"

John was so close to him, so...so warm... It wasn't unrealistic where there were fireworks or cheering it was just...John. But then he felt hot breath in his ear and he froze. "I forgive you." Sherlock smiled wide and pulled away. " I'm glad we've reached an understanding. Let's go back to Baker Street."

The two friends walked back feeling warm in their chests and had big stupid grins on their faces. They giggled about little things, they would observe people and compete to see who was more right. Sherlock won every time of course.

When they got back to the apartment they went inside and Sherlock plopped down into his chair. "John, how does horrible television sound to you?"

John smiled. "That actually sounds good Sherlock."

"Clue" was on TV, and Sherlock watched as John tried to figure out who had done it. He actually enjoyed watching him deduce. He was a clever man, he figured out that it was Miss Scarlet. But what he didn't know is that there could have been two other theories which was revealed in the end. To be polite he never said a word. During the movie they had been playing Chess on the floor, they flipped the board sideways so they sat next to each other. It was more unconscious than anything. Sherlock was about to congratulate John for being somewhat correct when he noticed the smaller man's head resting on his shoulder. Slow deep breathing. He is asleep. Sherlock pulled John closer to him with his free arm and held him there.

Sherlock knew one thing for sure as he held him close. He could never lose John.


	4. Chapter 4

** 1,000 views! *distant cheering* Hope you can stomach this chapter, our John is sick. :( **

Chapter 4

When John awoke the next morning he felt pain in his back and neck. He slowly lifted himself up, his eyes flitting around the room, confused. Where was he? After a few minutes he realized he was on the couch, in the living room. He felt a blanket on top of him and a pillow supporting his head beneath him Sherlock must have put them there for him, also dragging him to the couch couldn't have been too easy. Sociopath? Ha. John smiled slightly and sank back down into the covers. He had fallen asleep sometime during the movie, his last memory was his head softly thudding against Sherlock's shoulder and drifting out of consciousness. But now he didn't feel so good, his stomach felt a little off, nothing that a good cup of tea wouldn't fix. John tilted his head to the side and noticed Sherlock was sitting in his chair, tapping away at John's laptop. John attempted to talk to him in his normal voice, but his throat was cracked and sore and it came out as a dry, crusty, mumble: " Good *cough* Morning Sherlock" He turned towards him, " John, are you ok? You look ill." "Oh god..." John felt like he was going to throw up, he was lurching forward when he was grabbed by the arm, and pulled to the bathroom. John leaned over the toilet and felt all his miso soup exit his body and enter the toilet with about 4 lurches. After he was finished he curled up on the cold, tile floor.

Sherlock wasn't exactly sure what to do in a situation like this. He softly gripped John's shoulder and whispered " Is there anything I can do?" He was surprised at himself for being so... sentimental. Caring was his worst quality, but it seemed to be coming so much easier when he was around John recently. He was so utterly out of character. Even more surprising, he didn't mind it so much. He decided when he stared at the fuzzy sweatered heap of John pathetically curled up on the bathroom floor, that if he showed sentiment it would only be for John, he trusted him enough to know that John would never betray him.

John gurgled from down below " I'm so sorry Sherlock..."

Sherlock smiled a little, John is the only person he knew that would ever say something so absurd.

" Don't be ridiculous John. Come here."

Sherlock lifted up John by his arm and supported about half of his weight, they walked to John's bedroom and Sherlock slowly set him down on his bed.

Sherlock assessed John for a few seconds. " Food poisoning."

He responded with a muffled "UGGHHHFFLLL"

" Do you need anything?"

" No, I just feel horrible."

Sherlock nodded and ascended. He was slowly stepping out of the door when he heard a light murmur of a voice.

" Sherlock?"

He turned around and walked a few steps closer to John's bed.

"John?"

" Can you... can you stay with me? I mean, I just don't have any company an-"

He smiled " Of course I can John. Hold on."

Sherlock briskly left the room, and returned this time with his violin.

Without a word, he sat down and began to play softly.

The music was so tender and soft that John's eyes watered. He shut them, enjoying every second of the sweet serenade.

Sherlock's face was full of concentration, full of sadness reflecting across to anyone who could see.

When he finished, John opened his eyes, teary, he had never heard something so beautiful.

" Thank you."

Sherlock smiled but it faltered for a second. He stood up and pulled out his phone. After a few quick taps he held the phone to his ear.

John knew. " Sherlock, you don't need to do this, I'm fine honestly."

There was fire in his eyes. " But I do. After all I've done for that man... this is unacceptable."

" It's not his fault."

" It's his restaurant."

" It was a mistake."

" They hurt you. They made you sick, they can't get away with this. I mean look at you! Pathetic."

" Everyone get's sick Sherlock."

" Not my doctor."

The cashier finally picked up the phone and he walked out of the room.

John could hear muffled yelling from a few rooms away. He couldn't hear the words being exchanged, but he could imagine the poor girl cowering in fear while being interrogated by the consulting detective. He shook his head, chuckling. He didn't laugh for long. His voice hurt.

Finally the noise died down and Sherlock re entered the room huffing, this time with a glass of water.

" I got you water. Isn't that what you're supposed to get sick people?"

John nodded and took a small sip. The water felt cool and clear, easing his cracked throat.

Sherlock sat down and observed John, his face was pale, eyes watery, voice uneven. He could tell John was trying hard to look like he was fine. He yawned a couple times and Sherlock quietly walked over to him. He pulled the blanket over him, and murmured,

"Go to sleep John. You need your rest. We'll be ok in the morning."

John smiled as Sherlock silently shut the door behind him. The last thing he thought of before he drifted into a nap was

" Why did Sherlock say "we"?"

**Hello people, I apologize for not writing sooner, bit of a rough week. I should be back on schedule now. Thanks for sticking with me!**

**~somevelvetmorning**


	5. Chapter 5

When John awoke, there was sunlight streaming through the window and he blinked in shock. Had he slept for so long? He stretched out his tired limbs and slowly emerged from bed. He felt hungry which was a good sign, he noted. He silently opened the door and wasn't prepared for the sight he saw.

Sherlock was sitting on the couch, his hands wrapped in his hair, clutching so hard it looked like if he let go then clumps would fall out. His face was slightly rosy, and dripping in tears. His breathing was ragged and he was shaking uncontrollably. But the worst part was that his mouth was turned into a complete grimace of agony. He turned and looked at John and he felt like there weren't enough words in the human language to describe Sherlock's expression. His eyes sang out ballads, full of water, his face pleading. So, vulnerable. Like he let go of everything. More tears started to fall. " John." He whispered in a broken mumble.

John walked over to him. Sherlock noticed, he looked absolutely broken. His face was searching for what was wrong but John would never know unless he told him.

" Sherlock." John's voice cracked. He had never seen Sherlock so shaken. " What happened while I was asleep?"

Sherlock covered his face with both of his hands.

" My parents are dead."

...

**This will be continued ASAP readers, don't worry.**


	6. Chapter 6

John gaped in shock. He had never thought of Sherlock ever having parents, but he knew not to ask questions. Sherlock was in pain and he needed a doctor. John sat down on the couch next to him and took Sherlock into his arms hesitantly. When he didn't push him away, John held Sherlock while he sobbed into his shoulder, clutching his sweater for dear life. Sherlock kept mumbling something in between the broken sobs, like " I'm not an emotional man", he was in denial. Sherlock reminded him of a child sometimes, he shut himself off from the rest of the world at a young age and hasn't matured in some areas. He had never felt so close to Sherlock before, I mean yes, there was that one hug but, no, this was so much different. He had opened up to John for the first time.

Sherlock was sobbing uncontrollably into John's soft, tan sweater, tear stained and possibly ruined it. His parents were dead, and they meant so much to him, much more than he let on. His image was ruined as the sociopath, his cover was blown and he also looked and felt extremely pathetic. And Sherlock didn't give a shit.

John held Sherlock's raven curls close to him. He held him tightly and never wanted to let go, because he knew, something like this would never happen again.

Sherlock let go of John, and sat back.

" John -"

" You don't have to explain yourself. I understand."

Fury overtook him and he stood up. He grabbed a glass and smashed it onto the floor .

"NO YOU DON'T! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING! YOU CAN'T SEE!"

John stood up, and broken glass pierced his feet, but he barely noticed.

" My parents are dead too."

Sherlock looked down at John. " What?" He whispered hoarsely

" I lost my parents when I was in Afghanistan. My father died of stroke and sometime after that my mother died of a heart attack."

Sherlock was about to speak but John cut him off

" I know how it feels. It leaves a gaping hole in your reality." John became choked up and a tear dribbled down his face. He swallowed. " It rips out a piece of your soul. It isolates you. I felt like I had lost everything there was to lose, and in a way, I did. "

Silence.

" John, I had no idea, I shouldn't have assumed, I-"

Large puddles of blood were forming under John's feet.

"JOHN!"

Sherlock pushed him onto the couch, and blood was dripping, dripping, dripping...

" John I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry. It's all my fault it's all my fault."

Sherlock started to weep again, mumbling the words in between.

" Sherlock." He turned his face to John, who was obviously trying to hide the immense pain he was experiencing.

" It's okay, you were angry. But please, could you help me get the glass out my feet?"

Sherlock straitened up, ashamed of acting so childish. " It's the least I could do."

He left and grabbed some tweezers and a petri dish from his chemistry area.

He came back and sat down on the couch. There were hundreds of shards in John's foot and Sherlock felt horrible.

He started to take them out when John spoke. " How?"

Sherlock looked at him and then looked back down at his work. " Car accident."

John nodded softly and stayed quiet.

" Death was instantaneous. I should have told them I loved them, I just never thought they would leave me."

He froze. Sherlock, capable of love? Well it was obvious when he was sobbing, but... he admitted it.

" I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

Sherlock quizzically looked at him.

" I know you are trying to go for an image. Sherlock Holmes, the great sociopath. I won't tell a soul if you don't want me to."

He nodded. " Thank you John."

" But could you talk to me about what's bothering you or how you're feeling? You can trust me and... sometimes it's too much to keep it all bottled up."

" I don't want you to think poorly of me."

" I would never think poorly of you."

... " okay."

Sherlock continued to pull the glass out of his foot. Each shard made a clink into the dish, one by one.

John slowly drifted out of consciousness, his head resting on the arm of the couch.

Finally after a few hours, his feet were clean of glass. Sherlock sighed in exhaustion.

He looked at John's face, and saw all the lines he felt guilty. He often forgot that he had seen so much blood and pain. All of the stress of the battlefield showing in his face.

He held onto John's hand. John was irreplaceable. No one could ever fill a hole he ever made.

He never realized how valuable he is. Such a kind man, but with nerves of steel and perfect aim.

Then Sherlock realized something so alarming, so disturbing yet so calming and relieving, he gasped.

He loved John.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi guys, I'm so sorry for the wait, went on a civil war vacation type thing for a few days, couldn't update. As you already know, I love reviews.**

When John awoke, Sherlock was gone and his foot clean of blood. He sat up and looked around, he was nowhere in sight. He stood up and cringed, it felt like 1000 tiny needles were stabbing him in the feet repeatedly. His neck ached, so he went to lie down in bed. He pulled the warm quilted covers over his body and tried to fall asleep. But, he was having trouble. As soon as he started drifting to sleep, Sherlock would pop up in his mind. What was up with him lately? He was acting...odd. John fell asleep, still unsuccessful with deciphering Sherlock's actions. When he woke up, he softly stood up from bed, his back ridged from all his military training. John had awoken from a horrible nightmare, taking place back in Afghanistan. It was a memory of trying to treat the wounds of a good friend of his, but they were mortal. John held his hand as he passed away. But the scariest part was that he didn't cry when he passed. He just sat there. It made John wonder who he really was. Was he like Sherlock? Cold hearted and manipulative? No. But something was wrong with him and John wanted to find out. It left an unsettling feeling in his stomach.

He entered the open area and Sherlock was nowhere to be found. John didn't fret, he was used to Sherlock being absent. He plopped down into his comfortable chair and pulled his laptop over his lap. He checked his email and their blog. Suddenly, there was a massive crash from the other room, Sherlock's room. John threw the laptop off of him and onto a nearby table, sprinting to his door and busting it open only to find something equally disturbing. He stepped in as Sherlock threw his lamp against the wall and watched the glass pieces ricochet across the room. His bed sheets were scattered across the room, one half of his mattress on the floor, books thrown onto the ground due to the bookshelf collapsing from being kicked too many times. Curtains ripped from the window. Clothes scattered. Sherlock turned to John with a wild fire in his eyes, different from anything John had ever seen. Usually his eyes would remain cold and hard and sometimes light up a bit from laughing but nothing like this. Sherlock's eyes blazed like the fury of a thousand armies. He looked like he had the capability to kill John if he merely wished. But John wasn't afraid, instead he stood silently, trying not to enrage him any further.

" John." He growled.

Sherlock was angry that John could turn him out of his cold shell, that he could turn him into this horrible form of himself. All this compressed emotion, good and bad, was coming out now. All those times Mycroft told Sherlock to push his friends out, told him that they were lying to Sherlock, that they didn't care. Mycroft's "friends" would constantly laugh at him and Sherlock would never know why. The time his mother bought him an ice cream cone and Sherlock got some on his nose and his mother licked it off causing Sherlock to giggle. When his old drug dealer beat him to a pulp and left him on the street after he didn't pay him off for the cocaine he bought, Mycroft punching him in the face for getting involved in drugs. Mycroft holding his hand when they walked around the zoo, telling Sherlock to never tell another soul. He never held his hand again.

Sherlock collapsed on his bed, or what was left of it, and clearly stated:

" Leave me be. I am nothing but a clock, missing some of the gears."

John's doctor instincts kicked in and he went to help Sherlock, trying to brush glass from his hair. But Sherlock slapped his hand away and yelled " GO!"

He solemnly nodded and walked out of the room, silently closing the door behind him. Sherlock picked a pillow up off the ground and placed it on his kind-of bed. He buried his face into the soft surface. He softly murmured into the pillow:

" Alone is safe. Alone protects me." over and over until his speech slurred and he passed out.


	8. Chapter 8

** I have another fanfic going right now, so I might be slow to update.**

John was seriously concerned for Sherlock, I mean, what the hell was wrong with him? One day he's hugging him, the next, destroying his room and throwing him out! He had not seen Sherlock exit his room since. He sat in his chair and tried to go through with his normal internet schedule, he got distracted. Something was defiantly up, something that Sherlock is not saying. On Que, Sherlock swiftly walked out of his room and into the living space and plopped down into his chair and stared directly at John. John wanted to ask him so many questions but not one word could escape his lips. Sherlock spoke:

" How do you view me John?"

Silence. John was not expecting this.

" Um... well you're a good colleague and quite a genius and annoying as hell sometimes and... well, you're my best friend."

Sherlock nodded, expressionless.

" Is there anything you'd like to tell me John? This is of the utmost importance."

" Tell you?"

" Yes, tell me. Perhaps something sentimental? I'm willing to listen."

Sherlock folded his hands under his head, staring him down. John grew red.

" Erm... I don't think so..."

Sherlock stood up and walked over to John. He gripped his shoulders and whispered:

" Are you sure?"

John shivered and nodded.

Before backing away Sherlock slid his fingertips slowly and softly down John's face. Then he straitened up and murmured " Okay" and sat down on the couch, in his mind palace, eyes closed.

John felt conflicted, like he should've said something else, and uncomfortable. Why did he feel all jittery? He chose to avoid the situation instead of confront it.

" Goodbye Sherlock, I have work."

No reply.

John returned from work, refreshed and had forgotten about the strange way he was acting this morning. But when he entered the apartment, something was off. Sherlock was lying on the couch in a fetal position and he wasn't breathing. In a fetal position and he wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing. Breathing. His face, streaked with pain, and a crumpled note lying on the table. But what was more disturbing was the bits of white powder left on the table. Oh, god. It was cocaine. He must have overdosed. John ran over to Sherlock and felt no pulse. John started to hyperventilate. There was only one thing he could possibly do. He called Mycroft.

**Sherlock's POV**

Sherlock finally had a plan. The emotions were obviously tearing him apart, and he needed to end the raging fire inside. He needed to become the ice man he once was, this was too much. He was going to ask John. Yes. But subtly, not outright. At this point he had no notion of killing himself, he just decided he wanted to know. After thoughtfully planning his words and actions, Sherlock carefully chose his outfit, and stepped out of his door, wearing his regular old blue robe. He sat down across from John, staring at him carefully. Trying to analyze his behavior. Finally, John placed his laptop down onto the table and stared.

He asked the question.

" John. I have sentimental feelings for you... I think I love you. I must know if my feelings are reciprocated immediately."

At least that's what he wanted to say. Unfortunately it wasn't very subtle.

" How do you view me John?"

Silence. John's brows furrowed. It was a question he didn't expect, unsurprisingly.

" Um... well you're a good colleague and quite a genius and annoying as hell sometimes and... well, you're my best friend."

Sherlock nodded, but inside he was screaming. He wanted John to see, why couldn't he see!

" Is there anything you'd like to tell me John? This is of the utmost importance."

" Tell you?"

" Yes, tell me. Perhaps something sentimental? I'm willing to listen."

Sherlock folded his hands under his head, staring him down. John grew red. Sherlock couldn't stand it anymore.

" Erm... I don't think so..."

Sherlock stood up and walked over to John. He gripped his shoulders and whispered:

" Are you sure?"

This couldn't be right. Sherlock thought his feelings would be returned, this was simply heartbreaking. He could feel his throat, choking up...

John nodded. Clearly uncomfortable. Oh god, of course he didn't love him, why would he? Sherlock was just making himself look like a joke, a fool. John would never return his feelings, Sherlock wasn't worth love anyways. But Sherlock was selfish... oh, so selfish... He brushed his fingers among his face, memorizing, feeling, watching, for any final hope that his feelings had been returned. None. Sherlock wanted to cry. Sherlock never cried until recently, over John, and... he would never feel the same. He was probably in for the rush, the chase, instead of Sherlock. It wasn't surprising. None of it was. And that's why it really hurt.

He forced himself away, knowing it would make John feel more comfortable.

" Okay."

He sat on the couch, trying to push him away, signal him to leave, but at the same time, he was hoping that he would ask if he was okay, nothing. John mumbled something about work and abruptly left. Rejection.

Sherlock wanted to die. Not in the silly, teenager - homework kind of way, there was no point to life. This wasn't a cheesy chic-flic, where John was his whole world, he wasn't. Sherlock never cared about what happened to himself until John. Until John. But John made his position clear.

A voice screamed in his head

" YOU SAW HIM BLUSHING! YOU SAW HIM SHIVER! THERE MIGHT BE SOMETHING THERE!"

His logical mind disagreed. It must have been all in his head. That often happens to people with affection for someone who doesn't return it. Fantasy takes over, and you see what you want to see.

He spent most of his remaining time writing his note. It had to be perfect, perfect for someone who he didn't deserve to ever have. Then he decided his choice of death. Nothing to messy, nor too clean. Something pleasurable, but with enough pain that he felt like he was dying. He made his decision.

He snorted the cocaine. Too much too much... he felt everything get clear and vivid all at once, like nothing he had ever felt before. But his pulse was racing faster and faster. He was having a heart attack. It hurt so much, but it almost felt good at the same time. He could finally disapear. As if a deep baritone drum had sounded, his pulse stopped. Everything went black.

**:( Don't die Sherlock.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sherlock's POV**

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open as he felt a dull ache in the depth of his chest. As his vision cleared, he realized he was looking at a bright white ceiling, lit by blinding florescent lights. He noticed the purity and cleanliness and deduced that he was in the hospital. And he was alone. He cursed under his breath, for not writing the letter quick enough. Oh god. John. Why the hell wouldn't John leave him alone? Sherlock wanted to die, simple as that. Now he was looking forward to seeing John scream at him for being so foolish. He stared at a blank wall for about an hour, trying to sort out his jumbled thoughts. Sentiment is for the losing side. It was obvious now, it nearly drove Sherlock to suicide! Wait. If Sherlock was alive then... then John read the letter. Sherlock turned the knob for the morphine down and was looking forward to a painful distraction from the mess he made. He wished he could have told John himself. Maybe he will be so disgusted that he won't even show. That would hurt more than anything John could possibly say.

**John's POV**

John was waiting, nearby the room, in a blue hospital chair, drifting off again. He hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in days. He was just waiting, and waiting. They were able to bring back Sherlock's pulse and bring him back from the dead. Thank god. John was prepared to confront Sherlock about the letter, but he had no idea what to say, even with so much time to think. Surely Sherlock would want a reply. It probably wasn't wise to do that while he was still in the hospital, his brain all fuzzy. He turned the stained, crumpled letter over and over in his hands, John had read it hundreds of times. He cried.

_John,_

_If you are reading this, then I am surely dead, which wouldn't take much deducing. Do not blame my suicide on yourself John, you could never deserve such a burden even if it wasn't a large one. I never really had much of a life to live for anyways, I pushed everyone away, so they never fought their way in, except you. You, John Watson, are probably the only human alive who can stand to be in my presence, and you actually enjoy it! _

_Everyday, you get out at 3:15, take a cab then get back here around 3:35. You would be back later, if there was traffic, also fitting with my owned planned death. I can't be late, I can't survive this. I wish you could see that. I wish you were here with me, I wish you could be the last thing I see. Unfortunately, you wouldn't let me follow through, so, it wasn't an option._

_I admit , this decision was very last minute, but I planned it very carefully. I chose my death very carefully. I'm sorry you have to be the one to find my body. I'm sorry you are most likely going to be delivering my eulogy. I'm sorry John. _

_But there's a reason I'm giving you this explanation. I care for you John. I have classified these feelings as "love" and are extremely frightened by them. Sherlock Holmes, frightened. When we touch, I notice a faint buzz of electricity between our fingers. It feels so nice to be held, I never let anyone hold me but... it's rather nice. I was hoping that maybe my feelings would be returned but I was wrong. You gave me something to live for, and now you're just... gone._

_I'm a fool, which is almost as disturbing as my realization. All I had was my brain and you destroyed my only use for society. So now, here I am, a broken man, who knows nothing of love and affection, with no reason to live. Sentiment is for the losing side John, and I lost._

_I apologize for any damage I have caused you, through this act, but if I am correct, (which I find myself not most of the time after I discovered my feelings for you), you should get over my death in a few short months._

_This is strange for me too. And no, I did not have a drug problem. Don't let my older brother tell you that you could have stopped me._

_I am sorry dear Watson. The game is over._

_Yours truly,_

_William Sherlock Scott Holmes_

John awoke from another dreamless, uncomfortable slumber to the sound of someone wailing in pain down the hall. He sighed. He wasn't sure how he felt about Sherlock, why couldn't he have more time to think? To decide? He had been defending his heterosexuality his entire life, but something in this letter made him stir. It left him uncertain. Suddenly the doctor strolled out of his room with a faint smile on her face. She walked up to John.

" He is awake and conscious. He's doing very well, well enough to speak to him. Would you like to?"

John thought for a moment. If he went to talk to him, the conversation might result in awkward silence, crying or screaming. But John was confused, and he needed to figure out his feelings toward Sherlock. And he needed to make sure he was okay of course! He's a bloody doctor for Christ's sake! Plus if he walked away now, there was no going back.

John rose and followed the doctor.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you guys so much for the reviews! Your reviews encourage me to write more, faster. I'm glad you like the story ( you should if you've read so far already) and don't worry, it'll get better. ****_Hopefully_**

John reluctantly entered the room, only to see Sherlock lying back in his bed, looking as pale as ever. John's stomach dropped. What the hell was he supposed to say? A voice inside of him piped up

" Well John, why don't you ask him how he is? He had a heart attack for f***s sake!"

" His answer is obvious, Sherlock hates stupid questions"

" Fine, have fun with your own "brilliant" ideas for icebreakers."

The voice was gone. John couldn't think of a thing to say. Sherlock looked horrible, pale and ragged. He looked like he needed more sleep which is even scarier because he'd been sleeping for 3 days. John's eyes watered. He felt a little off balance and sat down in a chair next to the bed. He put his head in his hands.

" It's all my fault."

**Sherlock's POV**

This answer surprised Sherlock. He expected John to scream at him but... was he... he was crying! He wanted to comfort John but he didn't want to be pushed away.

" It is your fault John, but you have no reason to blame yourself."

John stood up, suddenly angry.

" What the hell does that even mean?!"

" It means that you're the reason I attempted suicide, but you had no fault . Do not blame yourself."

John slumped back down.

" You're an idiot, you know that right?"

Sherlock sighed, exasperated.

" John, I don't like repeating myself, especially when it comes to my recent idiocy. You read the letter, you can figure it out."

" How are you feeling?"

" Honestly?"

"Yes."

" Terrible."

John stood up. He walked over to the morphine tubes, there was nothing running through them.

" Sherlock, did you turn the morphine off?"

" Yes. Don't touch it."

" ...why?"

"Pain serves as a good distraction."

"From?"

"You."

...

" How could you assume that I didn't...return...your feelings if you never asked?"

Oh here we go. Time for sentiment. Sherlock knew this was coming.

" I observed."

" Well you were wrong."

" I...you..." Sherlock's face blushed pink.

"Yes."

"Oh."

They sat in this strange silence, Sherlock's face sheepishly turned away.

" You know, it's weird... in my entire life I have never found another man attractive..."

Sherlock turned his face back and grinned.

" You find me..._attractive_?"

John narrowed his eyes and smirked.

" Don't act like you don't know. You use your looks to get what you want from women. Which is usually a fresh limb."

Sherlock laughed but then his face turned down a bit at the corners

" I know other people find me handsome, but I never saw what they thought was attractive."

John sighed heavily

" I can't believe you sometimes. You have lovely eyes, you must know that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

" Oh and cheekbones that make me look cool?"

" Shut up!"

Sherlock grinned and they both started hysterically laughing. They finally stopped, gasping for breath.

" When can we go back to Baker Street John?"

John's smile disappeared.

" Mycroft is quite furious with me, despite what you mentioned. He thought I should have kept your " drug habit" under wraps. He wants to put you in a rehab facility to help with depression. I argued back that the best medicine was getting back into the swing of things and taking you back to Baker Street was wisest. I said I could make sure you attend therapy... he said he couldn't trust me with your well being anymore. Honestly Sherlock, I wouldn't either."

" Shut up."

" It's true"

" My brother is a fool. He thinks because he is in high power, he can act like my moth-"

Sherlock's voice cracked and he stopped talking. He turned his face away.

John softly placed his hand on Sherlock's arm. Before he could speak Sherlock spit out angrily:

"Do NOT pity me John."

" Sherlock."

He slowly turned his face to face John's.

" I know how it feels to lose someone you love. The worst part is when they tell you how "_sorry" _they are... I have never even thought of pitying you. I mean, sure, I feel angry at myself but... I have a high respect for you."

Sherlock smiled. John thought to himself " I could get used to this"

" But, what are we going to call ourselves?"

" What are you talking about."

" Were not "just friends" anymore are we?

Sherlock sighed heavily.

" John, why do we have to be anything? We don't have to tell those fools."

" They'll notice eventually"

" They aren't like us. They might never."

" What about just in case?"

" This is so like you John."

" Just in case?"

" Fine."

Sherlock crossed his arms and pouted, causing John to laugh.

"Okay... how about...boyfriend?"

" Ugh. John, that's horrendous."

" Lover?"

" I think I vomited a little in my mouth."

" Hostage?"

Sherlock laughed. " No."

" Partner?"

" That sounds like we're married."

" And?"

" We're not getting married."

They laughed.

" Friend with Benefits?"

" Why are we doing this John? And that isn't even what this is!"

John thought for a long time.

" How about companion?"

Sherlock considered it.

" That seems the least depressing out of all of your options. Fine."

" I won't ever use it with you. "

" Good."

John scooted his chair closer to Sherlock and laid his head onto his chest.

Sherlock felt warm and content. He could have John so close to him without an excuse.

John spoke up, his words vibrating up Sherlock's spine.

" I don't want our life to change much. Just have everything the same except...well...have more of this. It's rather nice."

Sherlock smiled.

" I agree."

They stayed like this for a while, softly tousling John's hair while John listened to Sherlock's breathing as his chest rose and fell.

" I'm sorry."

Sherlock frowned.

" John, there's no reason to be sorry."

" Sherlock, If I didn't get out of work a bit earlier, then you would be dead...and I would have never been able to tell you exactly how I feel...and..."

Sherlock pulled him a bit closer, resting his chin on top of the doctor's head.

" You're such a complicated soul. You were programmed to become a dull, suberban man but somehow found yourself yearning for freedom and excitement. You gravitate towards danger. You are also extremely intelligent, which you don't take much credit for yet, you enjoy doing the dull average people past times like blogging and watching crap telly. You were also able to stay within my presence long enough to go on a wild goose chase, hunting for the cabbie. 99% of people try to avoid my presence as much as possible, but you find it interesting, even enjoyable. It takes a great deal for someone to draw me to them. You are far from average John Watson. "

John smiled.

" I love you."

Sherlock smiled and looked down at John's face.

" I will always love you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Once again, thank you for sticking with me. I feel like this is towards the end of the story... if you have any ideas then please let me know! **

John left the room reluctantly, when he saw Mycroft's face through the window, signaling him to leave. He sat up, his hair mussed in all different directions. John stood up, striating himself out and smoothing his shirt. Right before he left, he bent down towards Sherlock's face and whispered while looking him in the eyes:

" Mycroft is going to try to convince you into sending me away. Don't let him."

Sherlock smiled with a playful glint in his eyes.

"I would never think of it."

John grinned back.

" Good."

John reluctantly shuffled out of the room, while Mycroft barged in, slamming the door on a suddenly shocked and worried John. Mycroft turned to Sherlock and spit:

" What the _hell _were you thinking?!"

Sherlock's face turned to stone.

" This is my life, brother of mine. I will do with it what I wish. "

" You could be dead right now if it wasn't for me. You are not going back to Baker Street."

" You can't control me!"

" I can't leave you in the hands of John Watson. He obviously is incapable of taking care of you."

" He is my flat mate, not my caretaker. That's what he agreed to and you are lucky he does...help me, because he does it merely out of sentiment and friendship."

" It doesn't matter now. It's too late, I have already signed for a nurse to replace Mr. Watson."

" John is staying with me."

" I've already moved his things out."

" If you move John out, I won't solve any of your cases."

" You wouldn't dare refuse the highest-"

" I do dare. John is staying."

" You will attend therapy sessions every Thursday.

" Fine."

" If you don't, I will know about it."

" Fine."

" You will stay at Baker street under one more condition. You will get a drug test every Monday."

" What?!"

" You have proven that your drug habit is more dangerous than ever. If you are clean, you will stay. I will allow nicotine patches only. If you are not clean of drugs you will be transported to a rehab facility."

" Fine."

" I also believe you have affections for John Watson. This cannot continue. Sentiment is a chemical defect."

" Isolation is a chemical defect."

Mycroft glared at Sherlock and stalked out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Sherlock laid back down and thought it over.

He would be out in a few days, then they would move back to their flat.

What would be waiting, for once, Sherlock couldn't tell.

John was back at the apartment, staring blankly at the empty space. Everything was neatly swept up and all of his things were in boxes, beside the stairs. Only Sherlock's things were left. John slumped down and put his head in his hands. Mycroft had moved him out.

What was he going to do? Where was he going to go? Mycroft must have forced Sherlock into agreeing. John started to feel sick, because he knew he was right. John was a horrible caretaker who didn't see the signs of any of this because he was too wrapped up in his own problems. He deserved all of this.

John took the letter out of his pocket and reread the crumpled note, tearing up. He hastily shoved it back into his pocket, walking over to Sherlock's now organized desk. He shuffled the papers around until he found the embarrassing photo of himself that made Sherlock smile. He walked over to his chair to sit and take a closer look at it but his chair was missing. John sat in Sherlock's chair instead and stared at the photo.

What was so special about this photo?

Nothing. It was nothing at all.

John let the photo flutter to the ground, grabbed his coat and left.

He felt like nothing at all.


	12. Chapter 12

**I need ideas! If I don't get any ideas this might end soon... some inspiration, motivation. Once again, thanks a million for existing!**

**Remember folks, it's because of you this turned from a one-shot into a 12 chapter ( so far). THANK YOU!**

Sherlock became worried when John didn't show up to visit the next day. Or the day after that. When he got out of the hospital finally, he expected John to be patiently waiting outside his room, but no one was there. He growled in anger, Mycroft must have intervened and drove John Watson away. But he felt lonely again, John had to remember that he was the only person Sherlock had. He grabbed a taxi home and pondered what shady form of sabotage Mycroft committed. There were so many options. He arrived at 221B Baker Street, and stepped inside the flat. It was completely empty of John's things except for a few stray boxes laying around. Instead of sinking to the ground and crying like he would have done, or storming into his room, he became determined. He walked around the flat, looking for clues to show where he was going. He picked up the photo, and stared at it. This is what he was fighting for.

He found a dirty, and wet paper towel in the trash can, obviously used to wipe up muddy footprints. It was only from about 20 minutes earlier! John must have picked up his last boxes today! He ran out into the rain and noticed a bit of mud at the doorstep. The same mud from inside the house! Also, a bit leading onto the sidewalk. This was all he needed. John decided to walk to his new apartment. No, there wouldn't have been enough time for that, it must be a friends house. Sarah's! Sarah's flat wasn't far from here! If John was walking then Sherlock would be able to meet him before he got there! Sherlock sprinted off into the storm, searching for John.

John was walking, deep in thought. Sherlock obviously made his decision to move John out, he should accept it. Mycroft probably coaxed Sherlock into some kind of deal. But it was okay. Sherlock would be much healthier with a nurse around, his therapy sessions. Healthier than John could have ever made him, especially with all of the nurses and therapists being high end due to Mycroft's involvement. He would stay at Sarah's until he could find an apartment of his own. Everything would be okay. So why did it feel like everything was falling apart?

Sherlock ran down the street, memorizing the routes, searching for that blonde head of hair. He almost stopped breathing when he saw John, walking slowly, holding a lamp in one hand, looking utterly depressed. His face was tired and his eyes downcast.

Mycroft would pay for this.

Sherlock took a deep breath and ran out into the rain, across the street.

" John!"

John turned and stared at this out of breath, wild haired, soaked genius standing right in front of him. He couldn't even begin to comprehend the situation.

Sherlock couldn't think of a single thing to say. He had so much he wanted to tell John, but not one word would even dare to escape his lips.

Suddenly, without any warning at all, Sherlock's hands wrapped around John's neck and he pulled the two men's lips together with a rough collision. He was tired of talking about his feelings, discussing, like they were at a business meeting. John needed to know how he _felt _, how it was impossible for John to ever consider the possibility that Sherlock had betrayed him.

This wasn't like you would assume, where John gasps and slowly sinks into the kiss. There is no hesitation. They have been waiting much too long for this moment. John curls his fingers deep into the depths of Sherlock's ringlets, pulling him closer. Their first kiss was a dance. It was not a slow hesitant one, nor a reckless, quick one, nor a combination of the both. It was something else. It was only theirs.

They broke apart together, staring into each other's eyes.

" John, my brother's words mean nothing. I could never let you leave. That is, unless you truly wanted to and -"

It was John that initiated their second kiss.


	13. Chapter 13

Sherlock and John walked home, in the middle of a downpour, completely content. They dried off, sat down to a movie, cozied up under the blanket. But this time neither had to hide their feelings for each other. Sherlock had his arm draped around John's shoulders while he had his head tucked into Sherlock's shoulder. Neither of the men had ever been happier, holding each other, and criticizing the cheesiness of the film and laughing.

The next day, they were comfortably slumped together on the couch, fast asleep, when a small series of knocks came at the door. John's eyes fluttered open and he wobbled over to the door. He hesitantly opened it, only to find a frightened Mrs. Hudson, positively shaking at their doorstep.

" Oh John... I...I'm sorry but you had to... I had to...here."

Mrs. Hudson softly placed a rolled up newspaper in John's hands and scurried away and down the stairs.

John's brows furrowed as he opened the newspaper.

John's face went from confusion to shock in under 3 seconds.

" Oh my god."

He dropped the newspaper and speed walked to his room, slamming the door behind him. He sat on his bed and put his face in his hands. He was by no means ready for this.

Sherlock stood up abruptly. He walked over to the newspaper and stared at the headline.

**Sherlock Holmes Asexual? More Like Homosexual!**

Underneath the bold print headline was a photo of Sherlock and John kissing passionately in the rain. They took this special moment and advertised it across London. Some creep must have followed them.

He understood why John was so upset. Unlike Sherlock, he cared deeply about his public image.

Sherlock walked over to his room and opened the door softly.

John was sitting motionless on the bed, his head in his hands. Sherlock immediately ran over to John and wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.

" Sherlock... I... that was supposed to be special..."

" It is. Don't let them change your memory of the event."

" Now everyone knows and..."

" John."

" I'm going to get weird looks and.."

" John."

Sherlock waited until John took his head out of his hands and directly faced him. Sherlock grabbed a hold of John's chin.

" I know who is responsible for this, and I will get our revenge."

John grew angry and stood up.

" WHO DID THIS?! WHO?!"

Sherlock stood up as well.

" Who would be able to get such a high def picture? Who would be able to follow me without knowing? Who would be able to contact the Newspaper fast enough to put this through as a headline story? Who is currently holding a grudge against the both of us?"

John grew pale with fury.

" MYYCCRROOFFTT!"

" He was angry that we showed him up about our relationship so he decided to fight dirty and scandalously reveal it to all of London."

" That piece of SHITE!"

" We must show him that we refuse to be treated this way."

" How?"

"Oh, don't you worry. I have a plan..."

**That damn Mycroft. I wonder what Sherlock's plan of revenge is? What do you think? Maybe it's concerning dear Anthea... **


	14. Chapter 14

**I spent a couple days brainstorming what their revenge would be. Mycroft has power over high power establishments. But what does Sherlock have control over? I think you will like this. *evil smile***

Mycroft briskly walked into his office, wearing his freshly ironed suit and solemn expression. He sat down at his desk and ran his hands through his hair and sighed deeply. He had a very important meeting with very stubborn ambassadors of Croatia, England wanted to use their resources in exchange for helping them safely remove the remaining land mines. Oh how that country frustrated him. Anthea brought in his coffee, and he nodded to her in acknowledgement. He took a sip, while thinking of her. She was cool, calm, and collected just like him. If he was ever forced to be paired with someone it would probably be her. Snap out of it! He thought to himself. You have to convince these fools that you are doing their country a great favor.

He checked his watch, putting his coffee down and walking out the door and Anthea following him.

" Anthea, please record all of my actions this meeting for future reference."

" Yes sir."

He entered the room of 6 other men, one a translator. He sat down, listening to their terms of agreement while Anthea jotted down the conversation on the computer.

After around 45 minutes Mycroft abruptly stood up, his eyes big and dilated.

" WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"

He picked up a chair and threw it across the table, curled into a ball and screamed

" DON'T TOUCH ME!"

He felt a soft hand at his shoulder and he looked up at Anthea's surprised and concerned face.

She was so beautiful.

" Mycroft. You need to calm down."

He abruptly stood up, took her head in his hands and kissed her. Afterwards, she stood in shock as the ambassadors ran from the room. They were NOT trained for a situation like this! She grinned and pulled him to her lips. Then she grabbed his hand leading him out of the room while murmuring in a somber voice

" Come on, let's see what you were drugged with. I know this isn't you."

Anthea dragged him into the medical branch, who put him to sleep with a swift needle. They then found that he had taken LSD.

When Mycroft woke up he couldn't remember anything at all.

**Mycroft's Hallucination **

Mycroft was listening to the boring drabble of the Croatian ambassadors when he noticed the room start to pulse. He looked around to see if anyone else could feel it as well, but they all seemed normal. He looked at the translator and then stared at the painting on the wall. When he looked back at him his face was the face of a clock and it was melting into puddles at his feet. Mycroft screamed " WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" but his voice echoed and now all of their faces were melting clocks, advancing towards Mycroft. Darkness surrounded them and as they moved closer, so did the darkness. " DON'T TOUCH ME!" The walls were closing in, so he picked up a hammer and threw it in the direction of the clock faces and he curled up in a ball, trying to escape until he felt a hand at his shoulder. " Mycroft, you need to calm down." Her voice was pure velvet. When he looked up, he didn't see a clock face, or Anthea, but an angel, surrounded by a beautiful pale rose aura. She was keeping the darkness away. He loved her. So he kissed her and as he did he felt her light running through his veins, making him light weight and full of her sun. He smiled a smile so big it touched his forehead, at least he thought so. She had these big fluffy white wings and an innocent smile that made his heart break. He turned and saw the clock faces and their toothpick thin arms and legs scattering away like spiders. She had chased them away with her light and purity. He suddenly felt her soft rose lips sending light through his soul, and the entire room became rosy and peaceful. He felt her grab his hand and lead her away, but she was speaking in gibberish, and he became confused. But her eyes had oceans inside and he watched boats fight a heavy storm in the depth of her soul. Then he was being dragged along through melting corridors with clocks everywhere, but he focused on the white light hand that guided him though the nightmare. He was laid down on a sheet of moss and when he looked up he saw one of the clock faces wearing a lab coat and holding a needle the size of his arm. He screamed until he felt everything go black.

When he woke up he couldn't remember anything at all.

Anthea wished he would.

**Wow. Didn't see that coming did you? This was not an insult to Croatia, I love that country with all of my heart. Sherlock's going to get his head kicked in. :)**


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock and John were huddled over his laptop, they paid someone a large sum of money to record the footage at the meeting and send it over as fast as possible. They were just about to fall asleep from the dullness of their conversation until they watched Mycroft spring up and scream at all of them in a panicked and truly vulnerable action. They doubled over laughing so hard they couldn't stop and their stomachs hurt. He humiliated them, so they would humiliate him. But they stopped immediately when they saw Mycroft take Anthea into his arms and kiss her passionately. He didn't think he was capable of affection, so they sat there, on the couch, with their mouths hanging down. They gasped when Anthea kissed Mycroft! What the hell! Not only was he capable of love but someone else was capable of loving him? It suddenly turned very serious... was his lack of affection a sham? Were the Holmes' all capable of this act?

" Sherlock...I..."

" I know John. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, but this is the final jigsaw piece I needed. He loves her."

" Indeed I do brother mine."

They jerked their heads around quickly only to find Mycroft standing by their stairway, leaning on his umbrella, his face pink as a cherry.

" Although I could have realized this without the use of a heavy hallucinogenic."

Sherlock stood up, clearly furious.

" And I could have told others of John and I's relationship without the help of your popular newspaper _brother of mine. _Because of you, we have lost many clients."

" You have put the entire country in jeopardy."

" It could have been prevented."

" How _dare_ you. You have turned a petty game of payback into myself possibly loosing a negotiation with Croatia."

" You need to learn to handle not getting what you want."

" So do you."

They turned away from each other and huffed.

If Mycroft wasn't so embarrassed he probably would have been a lot angrier.

Mycroft whipped back around.

" And YOU. I expected such immaturity from Sherlock but from YOU John? You should be ashamed you were ever involved In this."

It was a horrible idea to pull in John, who was angry enough. He screamed:

" IMATURE? IMATURE?! HOW ABOUT " SHERLOCK HOLMES ASEXUAL? MORE LIKE HOMOSEXUAL!" ? WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING? DO YOU THINK I WAS GOING TO JUST LET THAT PASS? TAKE ALL THESE CALLS FROM MY FAMILY, THEIR HOMOPHOBIC WORDS OF WISDOM? WHY DON'T I PUBLSH THIS FOOTAGE ON YOUTUBE AND SEE HOW FAST IT SPREADS! TELL ME HOW YOU'RE FEELING THEN!"

The two brothers stood side by side, jaws down to the floor. They had NEVER seen John this angry.

**" GET THE HELL OUT OF MY FLAT!"**

Mycroft nodded slowly.

" This isn't over."

He immediately turned, jogged down the stairs and ran out the door, into a waiting black car, it looked like he was disappearing into the night.

There was no reason to discuss this with them with John in this emotional state.

After he had left, John collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands.

" John. I am sorry."

John looked up into his deep, watery green eyes.

He smiled a melancholy smile.

" Why would you ever say that?"

Sherlock placed his thin, pale hands on each side of his face and pulled him closer.

" If I hadn't kissed you in the rain, out in the open, this couldn't have happened." he whispered

" I'm glad you did. I was the foolish one. I don't know why I screamed at him like that."

" You were angry. It's hard not to be when my brother is an ass."

Sherlock smirked and John's face felt a little heated.

Suddenly, Sherlock jumped away and yelled

" I have an idea!"

He grabbed John's hand and led him towards the door.

" Whe- where are we going Sherlock?"

" Anywhere John! Through the heart of London! A walk into the deep majestic under a full moon!"

John's eyes narrowed.

" You got that from my novel didn't you.."

Sherlock turned pink for half a second then said enthusiastically

" The game is on!"

John rolled his eyes and grinned as he followed him down the steps into the dark.

They walked among the streets, occasionally looking up at the sky littered with stars, grasping hands. John would look up at Sherlock and stare at this man who changed his sexuality, changed everything. This tortured, beautiful genius, almost inhuman. When Sherlock looks down at John he sees this pure, beautiful man, too good for him, with fading pain in his eyes.

They walked wherever they pleased, just enjoying each other's company, when they heard this sweet serenade echoing down an alleyway, so they followed it to this young man, playing guitar by the dark corner. His face showed such emotion as he strummed, it was awe inspiring.

Sherlock grabbed his hand and pulled him just around the bend, so they could hear the music echoing across the walls, but stayed just out of sight. He held John so tenderly... it all seemed like a dream. Then they were dancing, no one really knew how it started or who started it, but if you saw it, you could never forget it.

Sherlock was an astounding dancer, so John followed his lead as they swayed back and forth, completely content.

It was one of the best nights of their lives.

Mycroft was in his office, doing paperwork and addressing formal apologies to all of the ambassadors, explaining why he acted so ridiculously. But he couldn't get Anthea out of his head, her soft dark hair, big blue eyes. What he regretted most was the loss of memory from his trip. He wished he could remember their kiss, drug induced or not. What surprised him greatly was the fact that she kissed him afterwards. She was not drugged, so she was fully conscious while doing so. This could mean only one thing.

Suddenly, he heard a soft knock on the door, interrupting his thoughts. He yelled a weary " come in " as he leaned back in his chair, expecting one of his colleagues.

But in stepped Anthea, obviously trying to look cool and strong, trying to pull herself together. Mycroft felt his voice catch in his throat.

" Hello Anthea."

" Mycroft. What I did yesterday was inexcusable. I can't apologize enough, so this should cover it."

She placed a slip of paper on his desk. It was her resignation.

No. This wasn't happening. He couldn't let her leave.

He stood up. Now was the time to say it.

" Maybe an apology isn't requested."

She looked confused.

" I don't understand."

" I wish you would."

" Why?"

" So I don't have to explain myself."

" Please do."

Mycroft took a deep breath.

" You don't need to apologize for kissing me."

" But it was unacceptable."

" If I did remember, my memory would be quite enjoyable."

Mycroft turned away.

Anthea gasped.

" Are you saying..."

" Yes."

Mycroft turned to face her again.

" I... I thought that-"

Mycroft bent down and closed the space between them in one long stride. He pulled her face to his and their lips met with surprising gentleness and sentiment. Finally he pulled away by only a few inches, staring into her lovely rosy face and smirked.

" You thought wrong."


	16. Chapter 16

After the night before, life seemed like a rainy day daydream. But let's face it, Sherlock gets bored. So he was overjoyed when Lestrade called about a case. Everyone else was still suffering the initial shock of Sherlock and John being gay. They were local celebrities, they got much hate mail telling them to go kill themselves and said that they would go to hell. But to balance it out they also got lots of supportive letters saying that they were proud that they came out and such. If Sherlock wasn't there for John, I don't think he would have made it.

Their phone conversation went like this.

" Hello?"

" This is Sherlock Holmes."

" Oh Sherlock...um hey."

" By that pause you are uncomfortable with the situation because we haven't spoken after you found out that John and I are in a relationship. You are uncomfortable with the idea of me being gay. I assure you George, I'm not gay. I have never found another man attractive except for John. You have nothing to worry about whatsoever. State your case, I don't waste time."

John snickered from the kitchen.

" Um...okay...just a homicide. The twist is that he was killed in a room without any windows and the door locked from the inside. He was stabbed twice in the back."

Greg gave him the address of the crime scene.

" We will be there as soon as possible."

" Wait! Sherlock!"

Sherlock's brows furrowed. He was in no mood for chit chat with Gabe.

" Yes?"

" Are you two alright? I noticed you've been getting quite a lot of attention lately."

This time Sherlock felt uncomfortable.

" John can talk to you when we get there. Goodbye Galvin."

" My name is-"

Sherlock hung up the phone and sighed deeply.

" Why do people care about our relations John?"

John smiled.

" Because they don't have any relations of their own to focus on."

They took a taxi to the crime scene, and got a funny look from the cabbie. John hated being noticed by everyone, being judged. He tried to ignore everyone's stares but it proved to be more difficult than he expected. He felt like the man was staring at him for too long, so he yelled:

" Yes? Can I help you?"

He turned around quickly, suddenly embarrassed. Sherlock gave John a concerned glance and wrapped his arm around John's shoulders. He whispered in his ear:

" Are you okay doing this?"

" I'm fine. Fine, just...I don't like people looking at me funny."

" Everyone will have forgotten about us by the end of the month. Don't worry. We just have to work through the days until then."

John turned and smiled at Sherlock.

" I had no idea you could be so supportive."

" Well I am your... companion aren't I?"

" Yes, well I suppose now you are."

The rest of the cab ride was silent while the cabbie kept sneaking glances at London's hottest new couple.

They finally arrived at the apartment complex. They exited the cab , side by side.

" Just like normal John."

John looked up and smiled at Sherlock. They ran up a couple flights of stairs before reaching a small room a couple doors to the left. They entered the room together. There was indeed no way to get in and out of the room... or so it seemed.

" Hello freak."

You wouldn't guess who it was.

" I don't know how you brainwashed him into liking you, because it's impossible for anybody to like you."

They walked away. They didn't have any time for her shit.

" John. Look for any vents that they could have crawled through."

John searched the room, but saw no vents.

Sherlock was deep in thought. How could someone get in if the door was locked?

Greg walked up to them.

" Thanks for coming. Anything so far?"

" I would if all of you would just shut up!" Sherlock snapped.

Lestrade nodded and walked away, talking to some other police officers.

" Wait a minute!" John yelped.

Sherlock ran over to his side as John lifted the painting from the wall, revealing a large vent.

" Fantastic John!"

John blushed profusely. He wasn't used to being complimented at crime scenes.

" But why was this here now? Aha! I know exactly what happened! If I can just piece it all together I can-"

" Hello lovebirds." snorted Anderson in his usual nasal tone of voice.

" Anderson, leave. You are populating the vicinity with your ignorance."

" Oh, Sherlock. I have every right to be here as much as you do. I think I'll stick around."

Sherlock sighed, clearly annoyed.

" You think you're so clever don't you? Just leave us be. We are about to solve this murder and you are getting in the way."

" Oh am I? More like you solving the murder. You just let John stick around for your own entertainment. You know he has nothing useful to say."

" If I wanted to drag someone along with me who had nothing useful to say I should have been flat mates with you."

" Admit it. You don't really care about him."

" I'm not going to admit something that isn't true."

Now everyone was watching.

" You are just hopelessly bored being a lonely genius. You find some idiotic company to entertain you and someone normal to study. I know he isn't worth your time. Your a liar because we are both perfectly aware that you don't have feelings. John is only there for you because he envies you. He knows that he is worthless and average. When are you going to tell him the truth?"

Anderson's ridiculous speech ended swiftly when Sherlock's fist met with Anderson's face, landing him on the floor, with blood spurting everywhere.

" John Watson is ANYTHING but average. You are not even worth enough to speak his name. I suggest you never say another word concerning the man I love or I will guarantee you will be too injured to speak at all, which would do the world a great favor."

Meanwhile John had speed walked out of the room, desperately attempting to hold himself together. He couldn't help agree with Anderson, he was nothing next to Sherlock. At least that's how he felt. Listening to what Sherlock had to say after he punched him helped him feel much better. He couldn't shake the feeling of regret for ever leaving the flat in the first place. He knew this would happen.

Sherlock ran after John, meeting him in the hallway. In the distance you could hear Greg yelling :

" What the hell were you thinking?!"

John was turned away, clearly shamed. Sherlock turned him around, but his gaze was downcast. This disturbed Sherlock because he had no reason to be ashamed.

" John. You must know that nothing that Anderson said is true. He is the most obnoxious person I have ever come in contact with."

John looked a little hurt.

" Of course I know it's just that... I didn't want any of this to happen! I hate being treated like this...like..."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around the smaller man without a trace of reluctance.

" Let's go back to Baker Street and order Chinese."

John smiled into his chest.

" Lets."

Sherlock always knew how to make him feel better.

**I hope Anderson gets fired. Hmmm that's not a bad idea... :)**

**Review and tell me every insult you can think of for Anderson. **

**That might make John feel better.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Wow. Over 12,000 views. Thanks you guys! I love you to death! If you are reading this, then I am sending you a virtual hug.**

**Enjoy!**

Sherlock and John took a taxi back to their flat, and ordered Chinese. But this time was different. Usually they would turn on the TV and pass out next to each other, but this was different. They had to talk about the situation. They sat down in the kitchen together with their noodles facing each other.

" Sherlock. I don't know if I can do this anymore. I can't deal with being treated like this every day."

" What are you suggesting we do?"

" I'm not sure anymore. I just..."

John held his head in his hands.

" I just don't know."

Suddenly out of nowhere John's phone rung, and he picked it up and replied a dull

" Hello?"

" Oh, hi Molly! What do you need?"

" Sure thing, we'll be right over."

He hung up the phone and stated:

" Molly wants us to head over to the morgue. She said she has a new body in that isn't like any other one."

Sherlock nodded and swiftly stood, grabbed his coat and ran down the stairs with John trailing behind. Just like old times.

They took a cab to the morgue and John was honestly expecting attention from the cabbie like the last one, but he seemed to pay no mind. "The popularity must be dying down, hopefully people will accept us for who we are" John thought.

While they were riding Sherlock whispered in John's ear:

" I don't think I can imagine life without you."

John grew a quiet, knowing smirk.

John whispered back:

" I don't think I could ever imagine myself leaving."

Sherlock smiled back.

He couldn't believe someone could ever love him.

Sherlock held John in the crook of his neck, his head resting on top of his.

They could finally be blissfully peaceful.

They arrived at the morgue, and walked into Molly's area.

She was behind her desk, stacking some papers.

" John, could you help me a sec?"

" Sure."

He walked over to her, but what she did was completely unexpected.

She grabbed John roughly by his arm and pulled him to her side, while revealing a gun in her other hand, aiming at John's head.

Her hand was shaking and so was her voice as she yelled

" Don't you DARE move! Either of you!"

Sherlock's eyes went wide and his mouth opened wide in shock.

He yelled in a broken voice

" JOHN!"

" DON'T MOVE"

" Let him go Molly."

" SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!"

Now she was crying and her hand was shaking harder than ever.

John's face looked like a deer in headlights. He kept gulping, bracing for the blow. He mouthed to Sherlock:

" I love you."

Now Sherlock was tearing up and he nodded back to him.

Just in case.

Molly piped up:

" You used me! You knew I liked you and you used me to get what you wanted! How does it feel Sherlock? HOW DOES IT FEEL?!"

Now she was dripping with tears and rattling all over. If she didn't stop shaking so hard she would accidentally pull the trigger.

Sherlock spoke in a voice dripping with guilt. What had he created?

" I am so sorry Molly."

She brightened up for a second before her face moved back into a dark glare.

" You're lying. To get what you want. Just like always."

She gestured towards John

" I am tired of being USED! USED!"

Now she was to the point of screaming.

" TELL ME HOW IT FEELS TO YOU WHEN HIS BLOOD IS DRIPPING ON YOU'RE SHOES!"

She loaded the gun

Now Sherlock was crying.

" Molly, please!"

" It's too late! You thought I was nothing!"

Sherlock stepped closer.

" GET AWAY FROM ME!"

" You are too good for this. For me."

She sniffled

" It's not true."

" It is true. I am sorry. You don't deserve me or Jim . We are merely broken pieces of clockwork. You deserve someone kind, smart and compassionate who will love you back. Our kind is unstable. You are too good for me. I'm sorry."

" Why John? Why not me?"

She seemed to be calming down.

" Because I don't deserve you. You shouldn't have to wait on someone like me. You are not as reckless and danger-hungry. And the fact that I find a man attractive makes my situation quite obvious."

Her mouth quivered as she spit out

" I don't want to do this anymore."

She dropped the gun and started crying into her hands. Sherlock wrapped her into his arms as she cried into his coat:

" I'm so sorry Sherlock"

Repeating the phrase and slurring the words together.

" No Molly. I am sorry. I have put you into this state."

She finally broke away and faced John, who looked a but shaken up.

" John... I... I'm so sorry."

She expected him to scream at her or stomp away, but instead he took her into his arms.

After she separated herself from him, she sheepishly looked up at the both of them, clearly ashamed.

" I...I..."

" Move on Molly. Go to greater things and places. Make the most of you're heart and brain, they both are filled to the brim.

They went outside and caught her a cab home. As soon as she was out of sight, John fell into Sherlock while they held each other tightly.

" John. I'd thought I might lose you."

" I thought I might lose _you_."

John was holding onto Sherlock tightly, like he might disappear any second.

Sherlock seemed to read his mind because he murmured

" I would never let that happen."

**Oh Sh*t! Molly! Didn't see that coming did you?**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

**Sherlock may not want you to inflict your opinions on the world, but I do!**


	18. Chapter 18

**I am SOOO SORRY for not updating sooner! I am balancing two other fan fictions and I lost internet for a little while.**

**Once again, if you are reading this, I LOVE YOU.**

After that scare at the morgue, John and Sherlock took a cab home, both worn out. They entered the flat, with John practically collapsing on the couch. He hadn't feared his life that much since Moriarty had a bomb strapped to him. Sherlock entered the kitchen, then stepping out with a bottle of whiskey. It looked dusty and frankly disgusting.

Sherlock fell onto the couch, next to John. He brought the aged whiskey to his lips and took a big gulp. He silently handed the drink over to John, who threw him a surprised glance and did the same.

" Sherlock...I didn't know you..."

" I don't."

" Then why-"

" Why do you drink?"

John pondered his question a moment.

"To relax, forget."

" Exactly."

They sat in silence for a moment.

John grabbed it and took a swig.

" You know you're quite attractive."

Sherlock looked at John first surprised then melancholy. He grabbed the bottle and had a big gulp.

" I have no clue why."

John grinned then pinned him down to the sofa, ending up on top of him.

" I can't believe even the worlds only consulting detective can't figure it out."

" I can't believe the worlds only consulting blogger can't figure out why he means so much to me."

John's eyes grew downcast.

" Sometimes I just think you'd be better without me."

Sherlock grew furious.

" Stop that!"

John also became angry.

" Stop what?! Telling the truth? You know it's true!"

" The only thing I know to be true on this subject is that you are completely mistaken."

" I would say the same about you."

" How could you possibly know how I feel about you?"

" How could I possibly know you aren't lying?"

Sherlock spit the word out with fury.

" TRUST."

John lifted himself off of him.

" I...I'm sorry Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes softened as he pulled John to his chest, rubbing circles in his hair.

" I'm sorry. I hate when you don't see your own self worth. The event with Molly was quite draining."

" I agree. Why must everything be so hard? It's like I'm battling the odds just to be with you."

Sherlock pulled John closer to his chest.

" We're not battling any odds now, what would you like to do?"

John leaned towards Sherlock's face and brushed a stray hand through his hair.

Sherlock grinned and pulled John into a kiss.

He was so warm and radiant, a white light in his depth of darkness.

Sherlock pulled him closer, but close didn't seem close enough.

Their lips parted and John looked into Sherlock's eyes. He didn't see what everyone else saw.

He saw galaxies. He saw mysterious dimensions. He saw beautiful puffs of green smoke. He saw life. Death.

Or maybe he was just a bit tipsy.

He pulled them together again and got a gentle reminder.

A reminder of what he was fighting for.

They separated.

" Sherlock, when did you realize you loved me?"

Sherlock thought for a moment.

" When I removed glass from you're foot. You?"

John looked up and smiled.

" I have absolutely no idea."

" John. I can't let them hurt you again."

" They use me as your weakness. They will. Maybe next time they'll pull the trigger."

Sherlock's eyes hardened.

" No. I would never let that happen. I simply cannot continue without you."

John laid back into Sherlock's chest while he combed through John's sandy blonde hair with his fingers.

What he didn't realize was that Sherlock was completely serious.

If John was to die... he would have no point to keep living.

That's why he got so furious when John poked at his own self worth.

He was worth the great genius's life.

And so much more.

...

Molly was on her cab ride home, staring out the window, tears streaming down her face.

How could she do something so horrid, so disgusting, so...evil?

Her guilt was immense.

She loved Sherlock, and he would never love her back. He made it perfectly clear.

How could he love her? After what she had done...

But it hurt now, because now she knew what she was losing.

She saw the horror in his eyes when she held John at gunpoint.

Emotion was plastered all over his face.

She wished he could look at her like that.

But he never would.

After years of stolen glances and childish hearts drawn next to his name, it all came to this.

He told her she was too good.

He must have been lying.

Because she is nothing. She is the pathetic woman who has this pathetic crush on this brilliant man. Who has been used like tissues and treated like absolute dirt. Her fantastic grades in school led to absolutely nothing. She is extremely lonely and only has a cat to keep her company.

Every man she thought loved her, used her.

She hastily paid the cabbie money and ran up her apartment steps.

She took the entire bag of cat food and dumped it into Toby's bowl.

The dry cat food overflowed and covered a good portion of the kitchen floor.

She ran a hand through her hair and grabbed a piece of paper from her printer, grabbed a pen, and quickly jotted down a note. She left it on the table.

She walked into her room and pulled some sleeping medications from her shelf. She sat down on her bed. She thought she would cry, but she was strangely calm.

It would be clean. Easy. Simple

She would take a nap.

She put on her prettiest pajamas, and slid into bed.

She took her pills and drifted to sleep.

A sleep... from which she would never wake up.

**OMFG. I am evil...bwahahaha.**

**First, I don't update for a million years.**

**Then I go and kill off Molly. **

**Share you're opinions with the world!**

**COMMENT PLEASE**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hey readers!**

**To clear up the last chapter:**

**Molly committed suicide. She overdosed on her sleeping medications and never woke up.**

**Okay... yes. I am evil.**

**MontMomo's comment made me laugh especially hard.**

**I should get myself checked out...**

**Anyways, I updated quickly just for you guys!**

* * *

Sherlock and John noticed Molly hadn't come into work. They assumed she was taking a break after what happened. But when Lestrade called, she never answered.

The two men decided to check up on Molly, to make sure she was okay.

When they arrived at her flat, something was off.

The door was unlocked, so they stepped in.

Sherlock noticed that there was cat food all over the floor, and a fat brownish white cat was sleeping next to his bowl.

There was a piece of paper on the table.

It was a note.

_I just wanted to be happy_

_~ Molly_

Wait.

It was past tense!

Sherlock yelled " John!" as they ran into her bedroom and was met with a horrible stench.

It smelled like a mixture of rotting meat and cheap perfume.

To their horror, Molly was lying on the bed.

Blue.

Not breathing.

Dead.

Sherlock stood, gaping.

John walked up to the body and checked it.

" Four days."

Sherlock was still in shock.

" Molly Hooper has been dead for four days."

Sherlock closed his mouth and nodded.

John picked up the phone and dialed Lestrade.

It was all Sherlock's fault.

...

They arrived at the police station, with Sherlock's face blank.

Molly Hooper. Dead.

John was shocked also, and he was a bit teary, but Sherlock...

He looked as if he had seen a ghost.

He didn't even feel himself propelling forward.

He was completely numb.

Molly Hooper is... dead.

Gone.

He wanted to cry, but no tears would spill over.

This couldn't be happening.

Not Molly.

Why Molly?

His expression was blank, but you could see the hurt in his eyes if you looked closely.

Only John could see it.

It caused him to hold Sherlock tighter.

They entered the station when they were greeted with a familiar face.

Lestrade.

He was visibly angry.

Not surprising.

He was walking up to Sherlock when he shouted:

" You fucking BASTARD!"

His fist connected with Sherlock's face and he was on the floor, bleeding.

He barely noticed the pain.

" Why did you treat her like absolute shite?"

No reply.

" She just wanted to be happy! Why couldn't you let her?"

No reply.

" YOU KNEW she liked you! Why did you use her?"

No reply.

" Answer my fucking questions!"

No reply.

" Fine. I hope you know that you are responsible for her death. Not completely, but a big portion of it is your fault. If you can't feel guilty then god help you."

He walked away, John was about to chase after him down until Sherlock grabbed his coat.

" John. He loved her. "

John turned to face him.

" What?!"

" Let it go. He's right."

John pulled him up off of the ground.

" He loved her."

" Of course. Wasn't it obvious?"

" No! It wasn't obvious!"

" He's had feelings for her for years. His actions are justified."

John spoke up.

" Sherlock, I think we should leave. They wouldn't let us get involved in her case anyways."

Sherlock nodded.

The cab ride home was silent.

All Sherlock could think about was her corpse. How when he goes to the morgue she won't be there anymore.

It'll be some blind fool, who wasn't nearly as perky or... they just wouldn't be Molly.

How it was all his fault.

All John could think about was Sherlock and his reaction. He was trying to figure out what was going on in his head. Why he took Greg's punch so easily.

He couldn't believe that Lestrade had feelings for her this entire time! He couldn't believe he didn't notice something so..."obvious".

But memories of Molly would come washing back.

How unstable she looked while she held a gun to his head.

The note.

The corpse.

There was no way this could have been real.

It felt like a nightmare.

When they arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock walked strait into his room, and shut the door.

John wasn't going to take this crap from him.

Not today.

He knocked on his door.

No reply.

The door was unlocked, so he opened it softly.

Sherlock was curled up on his bed, facing the window.

He walked silently over to him and looked at his face.

It was pink, puffy and all wet.

He had been sobbing.

Instead of saying anything, John crawled onto the bed and wrapped his arms around him from behind.

Sherlock started crying again and John held him close.

" I...It's all my fault John. I did this."

" Sherlock."

John rested his head on Sherlock's and murmured slowly:

" You didn't know love then. You didn't know how to truthfully return affections. You only thought of Science. Cause and affect. A to B. But you complimented her the day she died, and it was all she ever wanted."

" I killed her."

" It's like blaming an alcoholic for crashing a car."

" But she's dead. And I could have made her better."

" You can't just make someone suffering from depression better."

" I wasn't paying attention."

John was silent for a moment.

" I know, beautiful."

Sherlock chuckled.

" John you're supposed to be in mourning. This is not time for flirting."

" I am. I just wanted to get a laugh out of you."

Sherlock turned to John. Sherlock whispered:

" I love you. More than anything."

John lightly kissed him.

" I love you more than everything."

It was silent for a few minutes.

" John. I'm sorry for things I've said in the past... I..."

" I forgive you."

Sherlock smiled.

" How could I ever deserve someone like you?"

" Maybe you don't."

They laughed together.

Only John could make him feel better when he was this bad.

**Awwwww. **

**That was pretty cute.**

**Except for Molly's rotting corpse of course.**

**Poor Lestrade.**

**Please inflict your opinions in the reviews section.**

**John would be proud. :) **


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